


Vigil

by scifigurl720



Category: Survivors (TV 2008), Torchwood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 11:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigurl720/pseuds/scifigurl720
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Captain Jack Harkness and his team struggle as a flu epidemic strikes Cardiff. Warning: Multiple character deaths ensue. This is a crossover with another BBC series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Story Title: Vigil

Author: scifigurl720

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. All rights are reserved by the Terry Nation estate, BBC, and various copywrite holders of Torchwood, Dr. Who, and the series listed in author's note below. I own nothing.

Summary: Captain Jack Harkness and his team struggle as a flu epidemic strikes Cardiff. Warning: Multiple character deaths ensue. This is a crossover with another BBC series. Read on to find out which. I don't want to spoil the story by listing it here.

Chapter One

Captain Jack Harkness stared at the deserted streets below, his classic profile highlighted by rays of the setting sun. His office was dark. Power had been off for hours now. It wouldn't be restored any time soon. Cardiff was now eerily silent. No cars were seen on the streets below. He hadn't seen another person in a day. No live ones at any rate. The only illumination that of natural light from nearby windows and the small flame of a scented candle on a nearby bookshelf, it had been a christmas gift from Tosh. He had always liked the smell of fresh baked apple pie.

Gwen Cooper's husband Rhys Williams had been the first of Jack's circle who got the flu. The ex-copper had stayed home to nurse him as hospitals were turning away victims.

Jack had been in contact with UNIT and other government agencies, via internet and satellite conferences for most of the week. No one knew who patient zero was. A cluster of cases was first reported near Manchester. The contagion had spread from there rapidly. There was only a twenty four hour period from exposure to displaying initial symptoms; fever and chills graduated to coma, then death hours later.

Investigation utilizing Torchwood's specialized equipment had proved only that the plague was of earth origin. Government officials were unsure if this was a biological attack or just happenstance. Jack figured it was attack or an accidental release from some lab. All universities and independent bio-research facilities in the UK had denied responsibility for 'accidents'. No one was conducting weapons research. That would be illegal.

An incoming call sounded on his headset. Jack hadn't had any calls on ground lines for hours now. Phone service had failed as the calls of those attempting to contact friends and relatives overwhelmed the system. There were no techs at work to restore service. "Torchwood."

"Jack? Are you there?" The familiar lilting tones of welsh accent greeted him. His friend's voice sounded strange.

"Gwen. How is Rhys?" There was moment of silence, then the audible rasp of respiration. She sounded congested. "He is dead, Jack," she sobbed.

Jack hung his head. Another friend was gone.

The captain hadn't liked Rhys much initially. He figured Gwen could do better, her nesting instincts lead Gwen to settle on Rhys as a marital prospect. Jack had come admire Rhys after his kidnapping and was surprised how aptly he handled the truth that aliens were out there. Being the husband of a Torchwood agent was never easy and Gwen seemed to be coping with the fact that she couldn't talk to her significant other about work there without violating the secrets act.

Gwen had stayed at home today to tend to Rhys. She'd been unable to get him a clinic appointment.

An automated message dissuaded the sick from coming to area hospitals, ER's, and clinics, stating a politically sanctioned fable. The public was urged to stay at home, to rest and take over the counter prescriptions to alleviate symptoms as antibiotics didn't help with the flu. This is a temporary crisis. The government is now working on a vaccine to combat this new flu strain. Blah,blah,blah. It was all lies of course.

The mystery virus, designated 'flu' overwhelmed Britain's national health system. Hospitals and clinics had turned patients away as the health crisis exceeded available resources. Patients in hospital succumbed one by one, and doctors and nurses weren't immune. There were no successful treatment protocols. Healers were only able to use medical technology to keep the patients pain free and hydrated as they perished. The virus spread quickly from each infected host to the next. Now days after the outbreak there was no one left to treat patients.

Researchers hadn't had enough time to determine if the strain was passed by airborne or contact exposure. Mortality projections were dire. The virus was almost 100 percent fatal – only those fortunate mortals who were immune to the strain had hope of survival. If you developed symptoms you died in a coma. Experts predicted less than one percent of the population had that immunity.

Jack replied, "I'm sorry. Do I need to come over? You can take time off to make arrangements for Rhys. I can make some calls. What kind of funeral would Rhys want?" His voice faltered, negating his attempt to project an enthusiasm Jack didn't feel. It seemed the government wasn't the only liar here. He prevaricated, "I can make some calls…." Gwen didn't need to know there was no help to send. Even undertakers had closed shop. Commerce and industry halting as the nation stayed at home for government sanctioned national sick days.

"Jack. I just wanted you to know, I love you."

Gwen was never this sentimental. Jack realized she was calling to tell him goodbye. She had the virus. "I love you too," he replied.

The leader of Torchwood cursed his existence. He was helpless to halt the natural order of life to death. Only he remained living while those around him died.

"Ianto is sick too. I finally got him to lie on the couch. Had to threaten him with no more sex to get him to rest. He thinks Torchwood can't run without him," he joked.

"Tell me the truth, Jack."

Pausing to gather his thoughts, he debated how much to tell her. He never could lie to Gwen. Instincts refined by her former job as a constable made her more than a match for his skills at obfuscation.

The former con-man/time operative sighed. "We haven't found a cure. There is no vaccine. All we know is the virus isn't alien. We think it possibly came from a bio-research facility. MI-5 and MI-6 have found no credible info from sources to suggest that this a terrorist attack. Of course there have been calls by various nutcases claiming responsibility. An expected exodus of aliens hasn't happened. I haven't been able to contact any one off world. I suspect the planet is under quarantine. On the bright side weevil sightings are nonexistent. Of course that might be because there isn't anyone to report them. The rift has been quiet as well."

"We are all dying. I'm dying. I have a fever, it's getting hard to think," Gwen voice wavered.

"I'll be there in five minutes." The roads were deserted, he could make it there and back in record time.

"You can't leave Ianto. I'll be fine." Gwen coughing as she chuckled, "I'll just have a lie in," Her white lie unconvincing as his had been.

"I'll bring you to the Hub, you shouldn't be alone."

No one should be alone as they died, but in the end we all greet the reaper alone the only exceptions to the rule being himself and the Doctor. He had been hoping in the last few days to hear the familiar sound of the TARDIS appearing, but there was no such luck. All attempts to contact the Doctor and Captain John Hart had failed. Musing halted as he re-focused on Gwen's voice.

"No Jack. I just called to let you know about Rhys. I'm sorry. I'm getting sleepy. Need to sleep," she mumbled. "Take care of Ianto. Love you…" Her voice faded.

Jack's pulse thudded in his ears and he shouted into the mike, his right hand supporting the speaker in an effort to better interpret conversation. "Gwen. Gwen! Are you there?"

He could barely hear her voice now. Gwen must have dropped the phone. "Sleep now. Love you."

A lengthy pause ensued. He shouted, "Wake up, Gwen. Please!" Silence on the line a sole reply. The mechanical sound of an open phone line was all he could detect. He kept the line for a few minutes, hoping she would wake up. Then he re-dialed her number numerous times. She didn't pick up the phone. He finally stopped dialing, telling himself he had to keep the line open in case of emergency. Jack laughed. He couldn't fathom anything more emergent than this situation. It was unlikely that he would receive any more calls. As far as Jack knew the Prime Minister and government leaders were all deceased. Picking up the candle in this left hand he went to check up on Ianto.

Entering the suite opposite his office his gaze centered on the familiar form of his lover huddled under a pile of blankets on the couch, two pillows supported Ianto's head. Setting the candle on a nearby table he noted Ianto was breathing deeply, chest rising and falling faster than usual. Each breath was audible from across the room, as lungs strained to capture all the oxygen available.

Leaning over he gave a gentle nudge to his shoulder. That failed to wake the somnolent Welshman. "Ianto?"

Increasing the volume, he said, "Wake up. Gwen called." His hands how shaking the sleeper. Ianto had been anxious for news of how the couple were doing.

Pinching him, and rubbing his knuckles on the sternum had no effect. There was no response to painful stimuli, Ianto didn't even twitch. Jack had to face it, his partner was in a coma. Jack would soon be completely alone. All he could do now was keep Ianto comfortable.

He remembered there was an oxygen tank and breathing mask in Owen's morgue. Although Dr. Owen Harper had been gone for only a few months the team still referred to it as Owen's.

The empty workstation opposite Gwen's remained Toshiko Sato's station. Jack often sat there intead of his office these days. With only the three of them (Jack, Gwen, and Ianto) in the hub it was silly to stay isolated in his office. The team had struggled to handle the rift activity themselves. UNIT had pushed for him to hire more staff but Jack lacked motivation to screen potential team members.

How do you replace family? Owen was his stubborn younger brother and Toshiko the brilliant sister he never had. He still couldn't believe they were gone and thought about them daily, cursing the psychopath masquerading in brother's skin. It was Grays's fault. Feelings of guilt reminded him, he was at fault. After he found out that Gray had gone insane he should have known Gray would go after his 'new' family.

Gray always had been demanding of his attention. He didn't know how to share. He hated it when Jack had played with kids his own age. They had been inseparable growing up until he had failed to hold on to Gray during the attack. His brother now rested in cryo-storage.

He wondered briefly if Gray had anything to do with this?

Donning a headlight that left his hands free for action he left the office. Training suggested that he hold a flashlight in his non-gun hand and a weapon in the other so a prospective shooter would hit an extremity instead of a vital organ. The prospects of a hostile encounter were close to zero as most humans were dead or dying. Jack couldn't die. He always came back to life. He reasoned having hands free could be useful while carrying the bulky oxygen container up the stairs.

Entering the morgue he located a green tank in a cupboard. Using a wrench to barely open the valve, the gauge now read full. He closed the valve to preserve its contents, searching through a drawer for a mask. There were a few prospects that looked to be the right size he gathered them, placing them in the left pocket of his coat.

He trudged back up the stairs, the ascent taking a few minutes. Ianto was still in the same position on the couch. The office managers breathing hadn't improved. He sat the cylinder at the head of the couch, attaching a mask and setting the oxygen level at 12 liters/minute. Jack settled it over Ianto's face adjusting the strap for comfort. The oxygen seemed to ease his lovers breathing somewhat. He wasn't breathing as deeply and his color steadily improved.

Tears streamed down Jack's cheeks. He was used to troubleshooting, but the situation was beyond saving. He was facing the end of this civilization. There were no brilliant scientists coming to the rescue the world. Science had failed them. Just like religion had in the eras before. The age of reason had died. There was no fixing this. There was no bringing back Gwen and all those lost to the pandemic .

Tossing the headset to the floor, his vision blurred as tears continued to fall. He drug a nearby chair over to the couch. He sat down grasping Ianto's hand in his. Jack took small comfort in the familiar scent of aftershave. Ianto always smelled good, one of the many things that had attracted Jack. He would wait here with Ianto, eyes closing to rest for a few seconds.

He had awakened in the morning, his lover's body cool to the touch. Ianto's hand was rigid, fingers still folded in position as muscles stiffened due to rigor. Ianto must've passed hours ago.

Peering at the glowing dial of his watch, he determined twelve hours had passed, it would be dawn soon.

The captain carried Ianto in his arms downstairs in bridal fashion instead of using a fireman's carry. Pausing to catch his breath he used one hand to open the cryochamber. Placing his lover's body gently in the drawer, he leaned over to give Ianto a farewell kiss on the forehead, then sealed the drawer.

Jack trod the familiar route to the top of the building where his thinking spot was, his mind busy listing the tasks ahead. He would have to go and get Gwen and Rhys. Retrieve their bodies.

He knew Gwen would have hated that her resting place would be in the vault. The prospect had freaked her out at orientation. All former Torchwood employees rested in the vault, their belongings and household goods sent on permanently to storage. There would be no one to pack up the mementos of his team's lives. Jack was the only one left, and didn't feel up to digging 3 graves at the moment.

Becoming numb to the pain, feet marched on, carrying him to the roof. He opened the door to the rooftop walking to the edge of the building to peer down at his city.

Relaxing in the fresh air, he took a slow deep breath as he watched the sun rise. He had always preferred being outside, and not cooped up in an office.

Now Jack was a lone watchman left to wake the dead. He removed a flask from his pocket to raise a toast the dying, the pleasant burn of whiskey now warming his stomach.

Vowing to himself he made a promise to the dead, and the few unfortunate bastards who survived. Those few abandoned souls left like Jack to mark the passing of everyone they knew. There would be a reckoning.

A/N: This is a crossover with the 2008 BBC series Survivors: a remake of the classic 70's series authored by Terry Nation (who also created the Daleks and Blake's 7). I apologize in advance for any errors with Torchwood canon and hope Jack wasn't too OOC. I'm still not happy with his characterization. I have only watched the series once and am writing from memory. I don't remember any mention of the source of the epidemic on Survivors. I placed it near Manchester because that is where the pilot episode of Survivors was filmed.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby Grant has a mission to find her son Peter who was at school when the outbreak began.

A/N: thanks to xxXxGracieyCullenHarknessxXxx for agreeing to beta the story for me.

Torchwood is owned by the BBC. Survivors is copywrited to the BBC and the Terry Nation estate. All rights are reserved to the owners of these programs.

Vigil: A Torchwood/Survivors crossover by scifigurl720

Chapter Two: The Quest

Abby Grant, an attractive forty year old housewife with shoulder length brown hair, and brown eyes drove south. Her thoughts were muddled. She had no certain destination now. Having just come from the hospital where hopes died of having a successful reunion with her son. After a smelly and emotionally exhausting search through darkened hallways, there had been no sign of her Peter. Ironically, it was Peter's surviving leukemia which separated them. He had responded well to treatment and had been in remission for six months. Peter had gone to Castle Crag for an adventure holiday. Abby let him go reluctantly, after a prolonged discussion in which David and Peter had both insisted she was too over protective. She remembered Peter's words. 'It'll be all right mum. I'll be back in a few weeks. You will barely miss me.'

She grimaced at the thought of her deceased husband David. It was so hard to accept that he was gone. He was the person Abby depended on. They had been married for over twenty years. A self-starter, David had built his own business as a builder.

She wondered how many people like her were left to mourn family members? There didn't seem to be many survivors. She hadn't found anyone alive in the small village she called home. The government authorities had lied to people on the news, saying there was a flu epidemic and had cautioned people to stay home. They hadn't told the public there were any fatalities. There were only scenes of patients getting vaccine shots and government workers managing the "temporary crisis" on the BBC.

Turning onto a junction with M62 she drove up the on ramp of the motorway leaving any hope of finding Peter. There was no traffic on the motorways. She hadn't seen another person since encountering Mr. Brown at Peter's camp at Castle Crag.

Abby zoomed through the stop sign, and was jerked out of her thoughts as a horn sounded behind her. Glimpsing a black car behind her in the lane she was merging with.

The black range rover swerved in front of her, hitting a pole and a small sign, coming to a stop on the left side of the road. She hit the brakes, parking in the right lane of traffic. Abby thought to herself, 'I could've been killed. I could've killed someone.'

Jittery with adrenaline, her hands shook as she swiftly exited the car, leaving the door open in her haste to see how the other driver fared.

An angry black man swiftly emerged from a loaded down range rover pickup, the back of his truck filled with supplies. He must have been shopping in a nearby town.

"What are you doing? You could have killed us both!" he shouted.

Abby continued jogging over to the black man. His hair was close cropped, almost clean shaven. He wore a grey jacket, green shirt, and khakis.

"I'm sorry-" she said, giving him an apologetic look.

He pointed at her as he yelled. "I mean of all the terrible pieces of driving…" He left off, shaking his head.

Concerned that she might have damaged his vehicle, she asked, "Is your car badly damaged?"

He turned to inspect his rover, hands spread wide signaling a surrender to circumstance. He said, "It's okay."

Abby looked back at her car, which was undamaged by the near collision, noting she had left the car door open. In a rush to see how the other driver was, she must've forgotten to close it. Abby replied, "I mean, how was I supposed to know you were there?" The roads had been empty since she woke yesterday.

"I have the right of way!" he insisted, the stranger's expression derisive as he said, "You do know how to drive, don't you?"

A flash of anger quickened in her gut. Who was he to lecture her? Accidents happen, she thought. Exasperated with this fruitless discussion of whose fault it was, Abby said, "Fine. It was my fault. Would you like my insurance details?"

He paused, expression serious as he stared her down, "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Well I thought so." Abby's lips quivered in amusement. They stared at each other for a moment then Abby cracked up. Her sense of humor tickled at the thought of exchanging insurance details. There'd be no more insurance companies. It was a new world now.

They both laughed. The man smiled at her. He had a nice smile. His teeth white and straight, and skin the colour of chocolate. He looked to be in his early forties, was probably was some sort of professional.

Abby waited at the roadside resting her eyes for a moment, as the stranger excused himself to turn off the motor of his car. It wouldn't do to waste petrol. She had already abandoned her own vehicle yesterday, trading it in for the red fiesta she was currently driving, dragging a dead body of a woman with blond hair and a trench coat from the car to side of the highway. She had felt bad abandoning the body there like rubbish, but she didn't have time to bury the dead. She had to search for Peter.

Abby had awoken yesterday morning after passing out from the flu. She had no idea how long she had slept. Her legs were shaky and she had to stagger downstairs where she found her husband David dead in a recliner. The power and water was out. From the looks of her refrigerator it had to have been for a day or two, the food was going off now.

After finding no one in the town she called home alive, she returned to the house, covering David in a brown blanket. She drug him outside to the yard, later dowsing his remains with petrol and setting it aflame. Abby remembered the note she'd taped to the front door for Peter.

Peter,

I can't stay here. Wherever you are, I'll find you.

Mum

It had seemed so simple. She would drive to the camp and find Peter. After a two hour drive she had arrived at Castle Crag. A search through the dorms revealed none of the dead was Peter.

The sole survivor there, an instructor at Castle Crag Centre, Callum Brown had told her that Peter was one of the first boys to get the flu virus. Mr. Brown had stayed at the school while Phil Emerson had driven Peter to a nearby Hospital. Abby had wanted to set out for the hospital immediately, but was talked into staying at the school with Mr. Brown as it would be dark soon. She hadn't slept at all that long night. Worry for Peter had kept her up.

Abby had searched the hospital the next day for her boy or Mr. Emerson. Brown had given her a photo of Emerson and Peter rock climbing, but neither were there. She remembered collapsing in the hallway, crying as she listened to an old recording of Peter's voice on her out of service mobile. Mr. Brown had told her the phone would be useless to her now, a relic of a bygone age. To survive people would have to start from scratch to restore civilization, to re-learn forgotten skills. She had asked what Mr. Browns plans for the uncertain future were. He said he would bury the boys, then do some hiking.

Abby clung to the hope of finding her son, it was what kept her going, otherwise she would just lie down and die. She knew in her heart Peter was alive. She just couldn't bear to accept anything else.

Eyes taking in the green landscape around her she took a deep breath, waiting for the stranger to come back, Abby took a seat on the metal fence dividing incoming and outgoing lanes. The stranger returned with a silver thermos and white cup in hand, filling the cup as he walked across. Extending a cup of tea, he said, "Here you go."

"Thank you," she said. Holding the cup in her right hand.

He poured himself a drink in the thermos cap.

"Oh," she sighed, taking a sip of warm tea, "I never really appreciated how wonderful tea is before. "

The man snapped the button closed on the thermos, staring into the distance. "That milk won't last long. I'll have to get a hold of a cow before long, or a goat." He took a drink.

"Is that what you're going to do? Find a farm?"

"Something like that," he gestured, holding the cap in his right hand and the thermos in the other. "Just a small place where I can grow a few things. Keep a few animals."

"You make it sound quite nice."

He nodded, "It will be. It will be hard work."

"Well, You'll find other people to help." Abby thought people would have to band together now to survive.

Flinging the remnants of tea to the tarmac, the stranger insisted, "I don't need other people."

After shaking the thermos lid to get rid of any remaining liquid, he asked, "How about you?"

"I was looking for my son," Abby shrugged, "But now I don't know what to do." Abby had no destination in mind. She had no idea where Phil Emerson might've taken Peter, or if Peter was wondering around out there all alone?

"But you-" he paused, "You can't stay in the city." Shaking his head negatively, he insisted, "It's too dangerous."

"I've had the virus," Abby insisted. She had survived the flu, she would get through this.

"I'm talking about cholera, typhoid. All the diseases that come with millions of unburied bodies."

Abby considered her options as he continued to talk.

"Those places will be hell." The black man then walked to her right, gesturing at the mostly empty mug Abby was holding, he said, "I'd better get moving."

"Oh?" Abby questioned, dumping the remainder of tea to the ground, she handed him the borrowed cup.

"You're on a tight schedule then?" she asked. The stranger seemed like a capable man. One with a determination to succeed at the tasks ahead.

The stranger smiled as he walked to the back of his rover. Grabbing a towel from the rear bed of the pickup, he used it to dry the teacup, saying, "You have to live you know. You owe it to the people you loved to-" He paused. "To keep going. It's what they would have wanted."

Her expression hopeful, Abby said, "If I recovered, then maybe my son did too? He could be out there somewhere." If he was Abby would find him. She wouldn't rest until she found Peter.

"All the more reason to keep yourself fit and healthy. That way if you find him you can make a fresh start," he said. The stranger stowed the cup and towel away in the corner of the truck bed.

Abby questioned, "You really think he might be alive?"

He shrugged, walking to the door of his truck, "Miracles happen. Even now." He turned to open the driver's side door of the black rover and looked intent on leaving, placing his hand on the door. Then he stopped abruptly, turning around to face Abby, he said, "You could travel with me for awhile if you want?" His voice teasing as he said, "Obviously you're not safe driving yourself. So?"

Abby strode across the lane intent on closing distance with the stranger. Defending her driving skills she said, "I'm actually a very good driver"

He smiled, shaking his head in amusement, "I noticed."

Abby smiled, "I'd like that."

He went on. "It's just for now, because I've got plans of my own. Greg Preston," he said, extending a hand for Abby to shake.

"Abby Grant," she said, shaking Greg's hand. "I'll get my stuff," she said.

Abby ran back to her car to retrieve her belongings. Abby returned to the rover carrying two duffle bags. Greg helped her stow them in the back of the truck.

She seated herself in the passenger seat and Greg cranked the ignition, Abby could feel vibration in her feet from the floorboard as Greg backed onto the motorway. The rover's motor purring as he began to drive away. Abby looked back into the passenger side mirror at the dwindling image of the abandoned fiesta behind them and smiled. She'd made a new friend today. Hopefully she and Greg would meet others along the way who would band together to make a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on writing more chapters to tie-in the Survivors with Torchwood, but as of yet, I have not found time to write more. I am unsure when I will write more on this story.


End file.
